


The Right Time And Place

by kathierif_fic



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: satedan_grabass, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 12:51:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7574674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathierif_fic/pseuds/kathierif_fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, it's not the right time or place.</p><p>And sometimes, it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Right Time And Place

**Author's Note:**

> written for the [](http://satedan-grabass.livejournal.com/profile)[satedan_grabass](http://satedan-grabass.livejournal.com/) challenge on LJ. Takes place during season 4, while John and Ronon are on Earth for John’s dad’s funeral. 3814 words.
> 
> The prompt or prompts used:  
> \- John and Ronon get together after the funeral, strip off their suits...;  
> Added in are elements of the other prompts:  
> \- John and Ronon are captured and in the same cell, their feelings can't be kept secret - first time;  
> \- John has a real kink for playing with Ronon's dreads, before, during and after sex!  
> 

Earth customs, Ronon thinks, are weird.

Strange.

Inexplicable.

Not the part where they celebrate the life of the recently deceased by talking about them and eating too much and burying the dead in wooden boxes in places of worship. That, he definitely understands.

 

_(He keeps to the background, keeps most of his thoughts and attention on Sheppard, who looks like his mind is a million miles away. Maybe he's still on Atlantis, on his duty and his people. Maybe his mind went to his past, to memories of his father._

_Ronon keeps focused on him to stop thinking about all the people he once knew, who deserved a nice ceremony like this, with food and people who remembered them fondly._

_Or mostly fondly._

_Or just remembered them, at all._

_He would have liked to bury Melena, give her all the last rites and rituals._

_He's not sure, but he thinks there was never enough left of her for a burial.)_

 

The funeral itself is not the thing that's weird. Carson explained the Lanteans' invisible God to him once - not that the Ancients aren't invisible as well, and Ronon has been on enough planets to know about all kinds of Gods he doesn't believe in.

What's weird is the strange custom of these people, to put ties on their necks for occasions like this.

 

_(He asked Woolsey, once, and what he gathered from the stuttered, stumbling explanation is that a tie is a symbol of confidence; to be worn when its wearer feels safe or would like to project the image._

_It makes sense to Ronon, although he thinks he's missing a lot of cultural context here: who in their right mind puts a tie on when they're in a dangerous situation, offering an enemy a perfect opportunity for strangulation?_

_He remembers all too clearly how the Rebels of Turia wrapped the thick rope around Sheppard's neck to drag him off, the fear he felt at Sheppard's wide-eyed look, the anger that soon replaced the fear as he felt the rough rope around his own neck._

_It has been three weeks, he tells himself, since Rodney and Lorne found them. They're both fine. It's not the first time they got captured, and left for dead, and it probably won't be the last time either.)_

 

He watches as John steps close to the grave, when everybody has turned away again, even John's brother.

He watches as John remains there as if he is frozen in his spot, as if the memories caught him and now refuse to let go.

It's like battle shock, and Ronon moves automatically, steps closer and nudges John in the back, to return him to the present, his body heat a stronghold against the cold memories of the past.

John gives him a short look, the corners of his mouth twitch slightly.

He doesn't say anything.

Neither does Ronon.

 

_(They are not in the Pegasus Galaxy, a moment of standing still is probably not going to kill John, or get him captured. Still, Ronon does not hesitate to let his instincts guide him._

_John is not going to get taken by hostile strangers._

_Not again._

_Not if Ronon can stop them.)_

 

~~

They finally made it back to their Motel room, and the first thing John does is to take off his tie, roll it up and push it deep into the pocket of his jacket. It is a smart thing to do, Ronon thinks - not that anyone is going to strangle John on his watch. Not if he can stop them, and he is very sure that he can stop most Earth threats. It gives him the feeling of being in control, of being able to decide what is going to happen.

It makes him feel confident, even in these strange Earth surroundings.

Ronon grins and steps closer. His hands come up without his conscious decision, settle against John's chest, just to feel the warmth of his skin through the thin fabric.

John lets his eyes fall closed and tilts his head slightly back. "Ronon..." he starts, his voice half a warning. Ronon knows that he needs to tread carefully now, unless he wants John to retreat.

He does not want that.

"There's no Wraith here," he says, his voice dropping into a deeper register. "No Rebels. And none of your military. It's just us."

John exhales. Ronon shifts his hands slightly, from John's chest to his shoulders under the dark suit jacket, to feel the muscles there. They're tense; have been the past few days, and Ronon starts to knead them, through the fabric of John's shirt.

John opens his mouth, but Ronon beats him.

"Remember what you said?" he asks and starts to brush his hands across John's shoulders, to get him out of his jacket. The jacket slides over John's shoulders and down his arms, falls to the ground unnoticed as they stare into each other's eyes.

Finally, John glances away and licks his lip, a quick swipe of his tongue.

He remembers.

 

_("Well," he'd said, "if we have to die, I'd rather die with you than without you," and it was supposed to be a joke, funny, but Ronon knows that there's too much truth in the statement for it to be a good joke. They both have been too close to death in the past years, were too close to it now for it to be funny._

_"Same," he'd still replied, although he wanted to scream and throw knives and fight -_

_\- they're not supposed to die just yet, there's still so much to do for them, so many Wraith to kill, and yet, if it is their time now, he, too, is glad that he's not alone, that John is with them._

_John had exhaled sharply through his nose and had looked around, but they still had been caught in a cave, thick heavy iron beams and rock surrounding them and keeping them where they were, and the biggest chance for getting out of here would be Rodney, who had seen the address and would come and rescue them._

_They finally sat down, next to each other, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, to wait for the rescue, John a warm weight along his side._

_They didn't talk much._

_They didn't have to._

_Not about the important things.)_

 

"You said it wasn't the right place."

"And not the right time," John agrees. He's frowning now, but he doesn't protest when Ronon starts unbuttoning his shirt.

"And not the right time," Ronon repeats. "But you didn't say no."

"True," John allows and lets Ronon take off his shirt, watches as it falls to the ground. It’s as close to a yes as John will come, Ronon knows, and he takes it as the permission to continue it is.

"We're not on Atlantis. Or on your base," Ronon points out and reaches for John's collarbone, rubs his fingertips across the thin skin there, just to watch goosebumps rise on John's arms. "Is there ever a better ti--"

He gets interrupted by John reaching up, grabbing his hair and pulling him down, into a kiss.

It doesn't start easy. It starts with John biting at Ronon's lip, with the taste of blood and desperation and the slight pull of John's grip in Ronon's hair, holding him in place. He loves it, loves the pinpricks of pain, the way John takes control and just takes what he needs, what he wants.

John uses his grip on Ronon's hair to steer him toward the bed, and Ronon willingly follows his direction, kisses back as much as he gets kissed, licks into John's mouth and along his teeth, then invites John's tongue with gentle nudges to return the attention, to come into Ronon's mouth to explore.

It has been too long since their last kiss, he thinks; he doesn't even remember John's taste, the small sounds he makes when he kisses Ronon with such abandon.

 

_(They thought they were going to die. They both didn't admit it, but Ronon knows it nonetheless._

_It was just the two of them, in their prison of rock and steel bars, and it had been two days without any living thing showing up. No food, no water, no light, just the two of them._

_That was when Ronon finally gave in to the urge to kiss John. To feel his rough, stubbled skin under his palms and the softness of his lips._

_To taste him._

_John had protested at first, tried to push Ronon away, but Ronon was stronger._

_If he was to die here, forgotten and rotting away, and not go out in a blaze of glory, killing Wraith and making his home galaxy a better place -_

_If their death was going to be useless and for nothing -_

_\- then he wanted to have this, at least._

_The feeling of John's body against his own._

_John's lips._

_The softness of his hair under his fingertips._

_John's hands in his own hair -- pulling him close now instead of pushing him away, his tongue hot and wet against Ronon's and his leg strong and muscled where it was suddenly pushed between Ronon's.)_

 

John's right hand lets go of Ronon's hair, but just to slide across his cheek, his neck and shoulder. He doesn't place his palm across Ronon's chest, just scratches his blunt nails across his nipples and across his stomach as he moves to grab the hem of Ronon's Earth shirt, yanks it upwards.

They interrupt their kiss, and Ronon licks his tingling lips, allows John to pull his shirt off. Adrenaline rushes through his body, makes him feel giddy with excitement and lust, and he suddenly realizes that his heartbeat is picking up its pace, beating strong and thunderous against his ribcage.

He wonders if John feels the same.

John's eyes are half-closed, his hair sticks up wildly. He's biting his bottom lip, but there is no hesitation in his hands as he moves them to Ronon's belt and unhooks it, as he worms his fingers under the waistband of Ronon's pants and pushes the button through its hole.

He looks good, Ronon thinks, and a shot of arousal tingles along his nerve endings.

 

_(It took a long while after the Lanteans took him in, to feel this again, to allow himself to let go again. There wasn't any time for satisfaction while he was a Runner, no time to just let go._

_Satedans prided themselves on their skills and abilities in the art of love-making, and Ronon is no exception from that rule. He knows what he's doing, he knows how he can make it good for his partner. He just needs the time to actually do it._

_Once he realized that Atlantis is safe, that the city was turning into his new home and the Lanteans, quirky as they were, became his family, he also found the time to focus on this again._

_And after the re-awakening of his sexual interests, he quickly realized that there was only one person that his libido was interested in._

_And, unfortunately, it was not one of the Marines or one of the scientists he’s casually hooked up with.._

_He's tried to adhere to the Lanteans' stupid rules about not sleeping with a fellow soldier, a guy, but in the end, he gave up, feeling disgusted with the rules and himself, for trying to bend himself to fit them._

_He's Satedan._

_Free to love who he choses._

_And he gave his love to John.)_

 

The zipper of his pants moves slowly, putting pressure on Ronon's dick, which is showing its interest clearly.

John's lips twitch a little.

"See something you like?" Ronon asks and scratches his fingertips through John's chest hair, rubs across a tiny, flat nipple and puts his hand in John's hair again, tilts his head back and captures his mouth in another deep, wet kiss while pressing his hips forward, into the contact with John's hands.

He wants those on him.

He wants John's touch to drive him wild.

He wants John's body under his own.

He wants.

He wants John.

Ronon manages to communicate this fact to John without interrupting their kiss, and John understands him, pushes both hands under the waistband of Ronon's pants to knead the strong muscles of his ass and then yanks the pants down to Ronon's knees before fighting against Ronon's hands, pulling back and away from the kiss.

His pupils are blown, his cheeks red, and Ronon has never seen him more beautiful than now.

And he knows that John will look even more beautiful once he's sprawled out under Ronon, moaning and letting go of his spectacular self control.

Soon, he will have that, he tells himself as he sits down on the edge of the bed and simply pulls John to straddle his legs, to kiss him again.

He feels the tug of John's grip in his hair, and it makes him roll his hips up, seeking friction, while his hands grab John's ass, pull him close.

His dick has unfolded to its largest size, and he can feel wetness well up at the tip as he rubs himself against the smooth material of John's suit pants. It feels exciting - not a lot of Pegasus-made fabrics feel like this - and he groans into their kiss, lets his hips snap up while pulling John down, against him.

It's an electrifying sensation, and he does it again, and again, until John bites at his tongue, presses both hands against Ronon's chest, to push him down, and his sweaty back comes in contact with the crisp sheets on the bed.

"Not yet," John growls. He stands and Ronon watches as John's hands move to his own belt and zipper, watches as the pants fall to the ground and get kicked off. He does not take off his underwear just yet, and the way it clings to John's body, outlines clearly what lies under the fabric without really showing it, makes Ronon's heart race and his mouth water. He’s still not willing to wear it, but he enjoys this, enjoys looking at John’s body, hidden, yet so exposed.

John swallows - his throat moves, and Ronon wants to bite at it, suck and lick the warm, salty skin there and leave a mark - and then, he steps close again, between Ronon's legs, and sinks down, to his knees, his hands on Ronon's thighs, holding them apart and using them to make a space for himself.

His mouth is hot and wet and tight around Ronon's length, and his tongue is moving in lazy, broad stripes against Ronon's skin - it pushes Ronon further, without sending him over the cliff and into the abyss of coming, and Ronon sits up and reaches down, to trace fingertips across John's lips and along his throat.

In retaliation, one of John's hands comes up to scratch blunt nails about his stomach muscles while the other wraps around his balls, tugs and rolls them gently.

 

_(They did roll up against each other, to put pressure on their hardening dicks, in that prison cave, but neither of them was this much into it, able to just let go. Desperation fuelled their first time, made them careless and rough as they held onto each other with all their strength, made their fingers clumsy as they yanked on their clothes._

_They didn't even take off their clothes, just pushed them down a little, to reach in and touch skin, to feel each other._

_Later, John rolled over until he was on his back, breath still heavy and slick mess in his underwear, and he laughed softly and squeezed Ronon's wrist, and Ronon felt himself smile - until he heard a soft sound from beyond their bars, and then, they both scrambled hastily to their feet, the mess in their clothes not forgotten, but not important for the moment.)_

 

He feels John's fingers joining his tongue, feels them wander along the delicate skin between his legs, and he suddenly knows what is going to happen here, and he has no complaints about it, absolutely none.

Quite to the contrary.

He welcomes the burn of the first finger pushing into him, because it heightens the sweet sensations of John's mouth on him. The second finger leaves him breathless, and he pushes into the touch, tries to get more, but this is the point where John decides to slow down.

He is a worthy partner for him, Ronon thinks and scowls at John, who just smirks back at him, eyes twinkling and lips stretched wide around Ronon's length, and this, Ronon thinks, is the most perfect John's ever looked.

The most beautiful.

He allows himself a moment to float, to just enjoy John's attention, until he grows impatient and sits up again, grabs John by the shoulder and yanks him up again, to sprawl across the mattress.

He takes John's underwear off without much teasing, just pulls and watches his length spring free, and kneels down, powerful legs spread wide around John's hips.

"Ronon, wait..."

It's the first words out of John's mouth since the beginning of this, and Ronon doesn't plan on waiting.

He just sinks down, lets the tip of John's length rub against him, lets it excite him.

"Wait, dammit!" John curses, his voice rough and hoarse, and Ronon takes a deep breath and freezes obediently, watches as John squirms under him and pulls a tube out of his bag.

 

( _One of the Marines showed him how slick, how perfect sex can feel with the lubricant Doc Beckett has in his medical department, and yet, Ronon sometimes misses the classic way Satedans do it - sure, they had oils as well, but sometimes, it can be just as nice without; to take the time to go slow, to watch a partner close for the slightest sign of pain, and distract them from it with hands and mouth and by going even slower._

_It's the way Ronon learned about sex, and sometimes, he misses it. Misses the small pains that heighten the sensation of penetration, misses the soothing touches of hands and lips across his chest and shoulders, the teasing pull and stretch._

_It's not for everyone, and not for every situation, but he had a lot of fun showing his partners how good it could be._ )

 

He allows the cold touch of slick gel on his overheated skin, allows it to cool his passion for a moment before he slides across John's lap again, and this time, there is no stopping him.

John reaches up, into Ronon's hair again, and pulls him into a breathless, sloppy kiss. His eyes are dark and wide, his mouth is red and open, his breathing is quick and excited. Ronon kisses him with all the passion he can muster, licks into his mouth and presses himself closer to John, feels him stretch him wide.

He starts moving, and just like their kiss, it doesn't start out gentle.

John's hands are still in Ronon's hair, pulling and yanking, and Ronon suspects John likes this even more than Ronon likes it himself.

He has no complaints.

He enjoys every second of it.

He groans, deep and feral, and moves, presses himself close and closer to John, feels him inside, stretching him and filling him and it's such an exciting, arousing feeling, it makes his toes curl and his fingers tingle.

He throws his head back, groans again as his scalp pulls against the grip John has on his hair, moves faster and faster.

Sweat slides down the length of his spine, makes the backs of his knees slick, his heart is skipping a beat every time John is touching that spot deep inside him, and his breath stutters in his chest.

It's perfect.

John is perfect, flushed and sweaty, eyes still half-closed, tongue swiping across his lip every so often, muscles working as he lifts himself up to kiss Ronon again, fingers buried deep in Ronon's hair, tugging and fingertips rubbing against the coarse hair.

Ronon balances on one hand, reaches between them with his free hand to take himself in hand - both of John's hands are busy, after all, and Ronon feels it, in his chest and deeper, that he only needs a little bit more to reach his goal.

John is pressing his eyes shut, now, and snaps his hips up, to bury himself deeper and deeper in Ronon's willing body, again and again, and Ronon tries to press himself closer, his spine arching as much as possible. He's caught between the two points where John holds him tight - his dick in Ronon's ass, and his hands in Ronon's hair, and it anchors him, gives him the chance to let go.

To focus just on the moment.

On John under him.

On the sensation of John in him.

On his hand on his own flesh, squeezing tight, just the way he likes it, his own thumb brushing over the heated head, his muscles working and finally, salvation and release.

He holds himself up for a moment longer, until John finds his peak as well, and only then does he allow himself to slide down, trembling muscles letting him land half on top of John, who oofs, but tightens his grip on Ronon's hair for a split second before shoving him off.

They're both hot, sweaty and exhausted, both sated and quiet, lying next to each other for a long moment while their heartbeats slow down again and awareness of their surroundings returns.

Then, Ronon rolls over, leans on his elbow and looks down onto John with a smirk. From the corner of his eye, he sees their Earth clothes, spread out carelessly across the floor, the edge of the tie visible in the pocket of John’s jacket, and it gives Ronon an idea.

"You know," he says, his fingers creeping out, to brush through John's chest hair, circle a nipple and pinching it teasingly, "there's unused rooms down by pier three."

John opens one eye, to look at him - half intrigued by Ronon's implied suggestion, half glaring at Ronon for even suggesting it - and Ronon lets his hands slide over John's chest, to his other nipple.

"You could bring your tie," he continues, grins wider. "I'm sure we can come up with a good use for it."

John’s reply, predictably, is full of denial, but Ronon sees the glimmer of interest in his eyes, and he decides to take the tie when John’s not paying attention, and bring it to Atlantis.

Maybe they’ll find an opportunity to make use of it there.

And even if John does not agree, it’s something to remind him that it’s not that John doesn’t want him.

It’s just not the right time or place sometimes.

~end.


End file.
